The worst thing is, love is not enough.
But that’s an awful way to start a story, the story I’ve been wanting to write. It is about a law school seminar, unknown weather, a student (girl) who wants to have sex with another student (guy), and his pet. For almost a year now this tale has weaved in and out of my mind like a soft needle over a long piece of fabric, never to be folded.
In classes this month, people have been sick. With some people, you can tell immediately—they are red in the nose, ghostly and slouched. With others, they first appear innocuous, but then they start sniffling, sneezing, and clearing their noses unsuccessfully into a broken piece of napkin. I look into each of them, twisting my neck here and there, becoming angry at their maskless faces.
Last night I went to an event on the rise of ESG in international arbitration whilst a snowstorm brewed outside. Sitting on perfectly aligned, giant ergonomic office chairs, we listened to one professor complain about the lack of access to justice for a German banana plantation owner after the plantation was taken over by its revolting Costa Rican workers. He explained: international arbitration systems do not care about companies worth tens of millions; only those of hundred millions or more. My friend and I turned our glances towards each other, quietly and incredulously. How his complaint had to do with ESG, or access to justice, we had to understand perversely.
Snow blew into my scarf touching my neck, snow painted a stranger’s eyelashes into the colour of mourning. My favourite park stood monumentally in the stroke of what is perfect and darkened. Here are the benches we used to sit on, covered completely soft.
One friend busing back to Ottawa, another friend connecting in Atlanta to fly to Kansas. My ex losing his job in Copenhagen and looking for a new one. Let me tell you something from the past: in Toronto in my depression (or whatever appropriate term for all that I was feeling for too long of a time) I would bike to the harbour front at night and it would give me, if not happiness, then a gratification that soothed me from the misunderstanding of others.
Tonight my stomach hurts waiting for my boyfriend to come home to listen to my frustration towards him. I haven’t been able to shake my shame away, and I am afraid I will be shackled by this thing which is so heavy, so real, so deplorable, so insignificant. I am afraid I will ruin my life by ruining my life. I am afraid I will always speak too early and act too late.
